


How Enigma Chose Her Name

by TheSleepingKnight



Category: Parahumans Series - Wildbow
Genre: DC Comics AU, Dismemberment, F/F, Gen, Grief, Insanity, Murder, Or stomach, This is not for the light of heart
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-01
Updated: 2019-06-01
Packaged: 2020-04-06 00:24:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,371
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19051513
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheSleepingKnight/pseuds/TheSleepingKnight
Summary: All villains have an origin story. Lisa Wilbourn is no exception.





	How Enigma Chose Her Name

Reggie was dead.

Her thoughts kept circling back to that. He was…dead. Deceased. Gone to meet his maker. Pushing up daisies. Croaked. Swimming with the fishes.

There were a lot of ways to say someone was dead, wasn’t there? Why was that? Dead was dead. There was so little worth saying anyway. All those meaningless overtures at the funeral, all about how _we would miss him so much_ , and _I’m so sorry._ Why would you need more words? Nothing could really sum up the situation like _Reggie was dead._

Questions. She had a voice in her head telling her more than she ever wanted to know, and all she was left with were more questions

 

> _You could make them stop. All that would be required would be to first shift their attention onto each other by using dad’s late night evenings as an easy way to get mom angry at him, use mom’s alcoholism as a way to let her guard down, and then—_

_Stop_. As far as she could tell, her power fed her information and then ways to _use_ that information – offered plans, strategies, schematics, ways to build or destroy anything her mind wandered to. It felt like going crazy. She was going crazy. Insanity fucking sucked.

Sarah wandered into the kitchen, the soft midnight light from the moon spilling in through the windows. Despite that, she heard the quiet _click_ of the front door unlocking. A primal instinct drove her to hide behind the nearest door, peeking out through the crack. Her father came in carrying his bags, his normally impeccable suit wrinkled and his hair a bit wild. He’d just come back from his little nightly meet up with Miss Kringle. Their next door neighbor and one of mom’s oldest rivals. She had no idea, of course. She both barely heard and was intensely aware of him romping up the stairs and walking into his bedroom.

 

> _From this angle, you could grab the knife, turn, throw it at the exact angle it would need to sink into his knee, which would cause his weight to collapse backwards, and snap his neck on the stairs. Alternatively, you could use the towel and sneak up behind him, use it to silence him before—_

“Stop,” Sarah whispered out loud. “Stop. Please.”

The voice quieted. It was like a water faucet being turned off, the _intensity_ dialing down. She rummaged around the cabinets for Advil. She found the little white bottle, fuddled with the stupid child-proof lock that shouldn’t be giving her nearly as much trouble as it was, and threw two back. Slowly, she drifted back towards her and— her room.

She hadn’t been into his room since he— since he died. She was too tired to fight the sudden impulse. She drifted over to the door, fought a moment of indecision (it’s just a fucking room/it’s _his_ room) and opened the door.

It looked exactly the same as it had that morning – dark and empty. Desk all a mess, clothes haphazardly thrown on the floor. The fan… the fan wasn’t moving. She let her hands drift over the bed, trailing off to the carpet. There was a dark stain on the ground. She leaned down, examining the rusty-black mark on the carpet. Old blood.

 

> _When he jumped, it wasn’t high enough to break his neck. He died of asphyxiation. It would have taken minutes, at least. He clawed at the rope, which is why his fingers were bloody. In the end, he wanted to live. He died slowly._

Sarah felt a strangled sob carve it’s way up her throat. She collapsed onto her brother’s bed, burrowing into the pillows as if to find the warmth he’d stolen away.

She didn’t go to school the next morning.

 

* * *

 

 

She started spending more time in Reggie’s room then her own. Her parents refused to come in, so that was a boon. She started going through his bookshelf – like her, he used to enjoy reading. Some of them she even remembered reading with him: _The ABC Murders_ , _And Then There Were None_ , _McNally's Fortune_ … they had loved mystery stories as children. When had they stopped? Answer: When they got too old to like each other anymore. Hanging out with your little sister once you were in high school? Lame. And Reggie just couldn’t be _lame,_ could he? And she… she’d given up, once she’d seen through the act. It had hurt to see him pretend to be a brother, so she stopped making him try.

Maybe if she’d reached out more…

Her hands fluttered over the spine of a old book. _Sherlock Holmes and the Hounds of Baskerville._ A classic. Reggie used to be terrified of the description of the hounds. Sarah personally found the landmines more horrifying.

They used to play cops and robbers, before the world broke them out of such habits. They’d switch off, of course, but Sarah would end up being robber more than cop. She hadn’t minded. She was very good at running. And Reggie, he had always loved pretending to solve her “crimes.” He wanted to be a detective, before— before. She had no idea what direction he wanted to go with his life after they had drifted apart.

_What happened to us? Why did we stop talking?_

_Answer: We grew up. And we learned from mom and dad how to avoid each other._

Honestly, there were day she was shocked her parents were even together. Their marriage had been more of a business decision then anything else, and whatever attraction had once been there, it was long gone now. Mom went to parties and drank herself to sleep, and dad “worked” late into the night. They didn't even talk to her, apart from dinner and grades, because they thought it was _her fault._

The anger that itched at the back of her mind ever since _that day_ boiled up into a fever pitch. She wanted to smash something. She needed to smash something. Something needed to _break—_

In the morning, she made up a pretty little lie about a bird flying in to the bathroom and breaking the mirror.

 

* * *

 

Sadly, breaking things was apparently the last straw.

“Honey, we’ve been—“

“Worried about me?” Sarah finished, running her fingers over one of Reggie’s books. “That’s new.”

“Watch your tone, young lady.” That was dad, ever the stick to mom’s carrot. “We’re trying to be nice.”

“Why?” Sarah asked. “You hate me, don’t you?”

“Oh, I could never hate you, baby.” Her mother lied, kneeling down in a show of compassion. “It’s just been… hard after your brother.”

“Yeah.” Sarah flipped open to a random page.

“What your mother is trying to get at is, we said some things we regret, and we’ve noticed how...distraught you’ve been.” Her father took over. “We were, of course, concerned about you. So we… took the liberty of looking at your search history.”

Sarah’s veins ran cold, and she couldn’t help the instinctive panic from reaching her face as she met her father’s eyes. She’d looked up things on powers and parahumans, of course. Very _specific_ things _._

“We couldn’t help notice that you were doing a lot of research about parahumans… Thinkers… and about how they get powers. Given your… recent behavior… well...” Dad’s words slipped into her stomach and scrapped at her insides. He couldn’t know. He _couldn’t._ “Do… do you have powers, Sarah?”

_Lie. Convincing lie. Anything. Say **anything**. _

“No,” she managed.

_Oh, fucking great._

“Sarah, please, there’s no need to be afraid, I won’t be angry. Quite the opposite, actually. But we need you to tell us the truth.”

“We just want to know what’s going on so we can help you.” Her mother continued, reaching out to squeeze her hand. Sarah’s skin prickled at the cold touch. “Just tell us, dear.”

She knew, of course. She knew what they would have her do if she said yes. What she’d be signing up for. Mommy and daddy’s little secret-seeker.

But.

Maybe…

Maybe they’d love her again.

She opened her mouth.

 

* * *

 

Stock market. What the socialites were up to. Lottery numbers. How best to invest in what so that they’d be even richer down the line. Whether or not the President had any future. Which sport teams were worth betting on.

Questions. Constant _questions_ , her father treating her like a wish-granting machine, her mother just _staring_ and doing nothing…

She wished she could run. She wished she could burn the house down.

 

> _You could._

* * *

 

“What do you _mean_ , I can’t leave?” Sarah was fully aware of how whiny she sounded. She didn’t care. She was going _insane._ She needed out, and she needed out now, to not use her goddamn power for just an hour or two.

“Sarah, I’m really not asking that much,” her father said, not even looking at her as he buttoned up his suit. She had to glue her lips shut as she thought about how pointless that was, considering what he’d be doing this evening.  “All I want is a fully written and detailed report on how best to maneuver Mr. Thorburn into selling me his shares in the company as soon as possible. With your abilities, you should have plenty of time to go to the dance.”

It was really amazing, how people could be so assured in their own ignorance that they had no idea how _infuriatingly wrong_ they were. Thorburn wasn’t exactly a pushover, and he wasn’t strapped for cash. His marriage was solid and he was fairly clean, so blackmail was out. There were several dozen ways he could be manipulated or forced into selling the shares but they would require months of work or require some serious lawbreaking. The most direct method would be to kidnap his wife and hold her for ransom for more money than he could afford, which would force him into selling his shares for flash cash. If her father could act well enough as a concerned friend, he could trick Thorburn into giving up even more money alongside the stocks

She hadn’t realized she’d said all that out loud until her father’s stunned face clued her in.

“What?” she asked, rubbing at her arms.

“...I wasn’t aware that your… power… came up with plans that involved lawbreaking.” He said slowly, staring at her as if noticing the bags under her eyes for the first time. Electricity danced up her spine.

“You asked, I delivered. Isn’t that what you wanted?” she muttered, trying to get her heart to stop pounding. She tried for a smile. “Don’t worry, I’ll come up with something without any serious misdemeanors. We wouldn’t want to play dirty, right? Any more than we already are.” It was out of her mouth before she could stop it. Her father looked like he’d swallowed a sour lemon.

“...Well! Write up a version without any lawbreaking, and you have my permission to go to the dance. I’ll see you when I get back, dear.” Her father nearly ran to the door, not even looking back at her. Probably for the best, with all the daggers she was glaring into his spine. It was relaxing to think about, steak knives perfectly arranged in his back…

No! She ran to the bathroom, splashing water on her face. She wouldn’t! She wouldn’t. She was still in control. She wasn’t going to kill them. The icy kiss of the water stung her eyes, and when she came back up, her distorted reflection smiled back at her.

 

> _You could make it stop._

_They’re my parents._

 

> _It’d be easy. Well. Maybe not_ easy _but completely doable. However you want it._

_It’s wrong._

 

> _Why?_

_Because— because it is!_

 

> _We both know we could be doing_ so much more _than being their little stooge. And we know that they will_ never _let you go. That’s where I come in._

_You’re not even real. I’m imagining this conversation as a way of externalizing my subconscious indecision. Shut up._

 

> _I can set you free. Just_ listen…

“Shut _up!_ ”

The mirror shattered once more.

 

* * *

 

 

> _So you know the new security system is for you, right? To keep track of you. You’re lucky they haven’t gone and installed spyware in your room._

 

Sarah glared at her faint reflection in the window. She could almost _see_ the voice in her head smiling back at her.

 

> _You freaked the old man out. You saw it, didn’t you? In his eyes. He was_ scared _of you._ _And you_ loved _it._

“Shut up.” Sarah grumbled half halfheartedly, turning back to her stats homework.

 

> _Come oooon Sarah. We both know that you enjoyed it. The_ rush _of standing up to him._ _Of talking back and_ winning. _And we both know that a rush is exactly what you’re craving right now. You didn’t even care about the dance, you just wanted to get away so you could have some_ fun. _Speaking of fun…_

Her mother’s heels clacking on the stairs finally registered in her brain, and she turned on the couch to watch the woman descend. To anyone else, she would have looked beautiful, dirty blonde hair and warm brown eyes glowing along with the silken white and pearl dress.

To Sarah, she looked tipsy. Already. Good thing they had the money to afford constant Ubers…

“What’s up, mom?” Sarah tried for flippancy, despite the dead weight in her throat. “Off to another evening of glamour and excitement?”

“Yes. Shame… shame your father’s busy in a meeting. I need a date.” She smiled down grin full of manufactured teeth. “Do you want to come?”

Sarah blinked in surprise. She hadn’t been asked to a social event since… since. She’d been dreading the thought of being forced to put on a mask and pretend everything was fine for all the socialites that would no doubt harp on the fact that _Reggie was dead,_ but…

 

> _She’s only offering because dad asked her to. It’s the only reason that makes sense. He’s trying to soften you up by using her as a mediator since he thinks you like her more._

A flash-fire of anger erupted under Sarah’s skin. Of course. God forbid she do something nice out of the kindness of her heart, after all.

 “No thanks,” she said, turning back to her homework. “I’m good.”

 "Are you sure?”

“Yes.” She said it with way more force then she meant to, but she didn’t feel too guilty about it. “I’m sure.”

“...you know, you get this strange look in your eye,” her mother murmured, the ends of her words getting lost in her throat.. “When you… when you use your power. You just… look so intense. Like you’re staring at something far, far away.” Sarah… really didn’t know what to say to that, beyond thinking that she really needed to work on concealing her tells.

“What’s it like?” her mother asked. “Having a superpower. I… realized I never asked that and I’m— I’m more than a little curious.” She drifted around to join Sarah on the couch, surprisingly graceful even in her inebriated state. Sarah turned around again, unsure of what her angle was. Still, no good reason not to answer.

“Well, it doesn’t make me feel powerful or super or anything.” She frowned. “Well… sometimes it does, but more often than not it’s like just… having an extra limb. Or brain, in my case. A new part of myself that feels like it’s always been there.”

“I see… And how do you think you got them?” Her mother learned in. “What happened to you?” Sarah wondered if getting punched in the gut felt anything like this. “What caused it?” Her mother pressed.

Her voice sounded strange and distant to her own ears, like someone else was talking. “Are… are you really asking me that? What _caused it?_ My brother committed _suicide,_ and you—”

“ _He was my son_!” Sarah flinched back – she’d only heard mom yell like that when she was really, really drunk. “I loved him too! You think I haven’t suffered enough? Haven’t— haven’t been through enough?” Her mother’s face looked like it was on fire from the inside. “Why not me? Why didn’t I get powers? Why not? What do I have to _do?”_ Manicured nails flashed out and seized Sarah by the shoulders, digging into skin. She tried to tug free, but her mother had a grip like a vise, pushing her back into the couch. Panic flooded Sarah’s veins, but she was too busy trying to keep her hands from reaching up and plunging into her mother’s eyes to do anything about it. She desperately tried to escape even as she suppressed the influx of plans that came with her distress. “Why did _you_ get them and not me _?_ I loved him! I loved him _more!_ Why did _you_ get them, when it was all _your_ fault!” Her hands began to move upwards, towards Sarah’s neck.

“It wasn’t! I didn’t _know!_ I didn’t _know!” Don’t hurt her._ Sarah chanted in her head. _Don’t hurt her. Don’t hurt her._ Even if it would be so easy to just reach up and— no!

“Why was it _you_ and not _me? Why?!”_ Spittle flew from her mother’s mouth, and oh god it was getting hard to breath and oh god oh _god i don't wanna die I don’t wanna die I don’t wanna die!_

Sarah kicked out her leg, her tennis shoes slamming into her mother’s chest. The force of the blow pushed her back, and the combo of being drunk, hit, and wearing high heels caused her to stumble and tip back, and—

Her head smashed against the nearby counter, and then she was on the floor and then she wasn’t moving and anymore and then—

And then—

And then it was really quiet. Like… really quiet. Like someone had muted the rest of the world- except some sounds got really, really loud. Her breath scraped against her eardrums. Sarah’s own tears danced on her tongue. It took about five minutes to get her breath back.

She—

She was dead

Her mother was dead.

_I did that. I… I killed her._

_Oh god, I killed mom._

_Oh— Oh my—_

Her stomach churned violently as instinctive bile rose with her horror, and she stumbled with half-responsive limbs into the kitchen to empty her stomach into the sink, absentmindedly washing it down the drain. Down the drain. Like her life, when people find out. Oh _god,_ she killed mom. It— it was an accident. She was drunk, she was crazy, Sarah just wanted her to stop choking her- it was self defense, right? She wouldn’t go to jail.

 

> _Yeah, right. Even if a judge bought that, dad would probably kill you or toss you out on the street like hot garbage if he found out. And besides- you have no proof of your innocence beyond your word, and if it gets out what daddy and mommy were having you do? You’re in jail. Going to court ends with you locked up even more._ If _you go to court._

“What other option is there… no.

 

> _Yes._

“If… if anyone found out-”

 

> _They won’t._

“You’re sure?”

 

> _Of course. Stop fighting it. Use. Your. Power. Deep breaths. In… out…In… out…_

_Okay._

“How do I get rid of the body?”

 

* * *

 

It was almost morbidly funny, how easy it was to get rid of the body.

First step: Clean up the blood. Luckily, good old fashioned water and soap did the trick pretty well.

Second step: Cancel the Uber using mom’s phone.

Third: The gardener kept his tools in the garage _—_ shovel. Move the body in the trunk.

Fourth: Drive to the store, get hacksaw and other tools.

Fifth: Dismemberment for easier concealment. Done in bathtub for ease of blood removal. Once that was finished, pack up mom’s remains in a suitcase.

Sixth: Drive out to nearby nature trail. Deep into the woods. Dig.

Seventh: Bury suitcase.

Eighth… cover story. Text to dad that she ran into an old friend, would be off partying and staying with them for a while. Get rid of her purse but keep cards, to make purchases down the line for the illusion.

When dad came home, Sarah was still up. He didn’t even knock on mom’s door.

Success. No body, no crime.

 

* * *

 

Getting away with murder was a strange sensation. Going to school had been nerve wracking. She'd had to fight not to jump at the bell, and she _did_ when someone triggered the fire alarm. Nearly threw up _again_ when she heard the sirens. When she got home, the panic sort of faded into electrifying relief.

She felt… too many different emotions to identify, really. They were all swirling around, a maelstrom in her noggin. But there was really no need to play psychotherapist with herself. She’d gotten away with it, and while that was amazing, it wasn’t the point... except, it kind of was the point, wasn’t it? She could get away with _murder_ , and that thought sent a little thrill down her spine. Actually… pulling that off was cause for celebration, wasn’t it?

She was barely in a dress and down the stairs before her father zeroed in on her.

“And where do you think you’re going _,_ young lady?” Sarah wondered if all fathers practiced that authoritative tone in the mirror for when they could terrorize their kids.

“Just a night on the town, dad. What’s wrong with that?”

“What’s wrong with that is that you are far too valuable to go out at night, _alone_ , with no one to look out for you!”

Sarah rolled her eyes. She didn’t need 'looking out for.' She had powers.

“Dad, come on. It’s not like we live in the gang parts of town. I’ll be fine.” She turned and _—_ “Sarah, I forbid you to go out!” Her father barked, and Sarah couldn’t help but go very still, because the last time this happened _—_

_Calm. He doesn’t know._

“Forbid me?” She said, keeping her thoughts away from her face. “What, are you afraid I’ll lose my powers or something because I’m having fun?”

“Sarah, why can’t you see that I’m trying to _protect_ you?” He tried to sound concerned, slowly going down the stairs. Sarah took an instinctive step back as he got close. “There are so many awful people out there who will try to take advantage of you, _hurt_ you _—_ ”

Oh, _hell_ no.

“Oh, it is _rich_ for you to act like you care about me, dad.” Sarah snarled, getting into his face and relishing the shock. “The only thing you care about is making money off me.  Off your _daughter,_ who got powers because her brother _committed suicide._ Which you blame _me_ for. You checked out of caring about me years ago. Mom too. You’re not even _home_ most of the time, because you’re too busy _fucking_ Kringle _—”_

Her cheek stung as her vision blurred with reflexive tears from… from... She slowly turned to look back at her father, his face flushed and scarlet with anger, hand shaking as he pointed at her.

“ _Never_ speak to me in that tone again, you _stupid_ little brat.” He snarled, face inhuman with anger. “And if you breathe a _word_ of that to your mother, I will see you out of this house and onto the streets faster than you can blink. Now, go back to your room, and get to work.”

She didn't even hear him leave. She was still too busy registering the fact that her face stung. He’d never hit her before. He’d never…  Had he hit mom? He had, hadn’t he? Of course he had.Was that why she was _—_ had been an alcoholic

...Had he hit Reggie?

Blood roared in her ears. It all made too much sense. Her dad was the reason Reggie was dead. He’d hit him, he _must have._ It was all his fault his fault _his fault his fault his fault his fault_

He’d pay.

He would _pay._

Sarah began to plan.

 

* * *

 

 

It was simple, really, to convince dad to let her volunteer at the hospital. All she had to do was say she wanted to see how her power worked in the medical field, and he signed her right up. Her dad was eager to get her away from him, and since she’d be supposedly watched 24/7 by responsible adults, she’d be unable to cause any problems.

_Idiot._

The anesthesia was all too easy to get at, as were other _interesting_ drugs and tools.

Step one…

 

* * *

 

 

The safest place to construct her little plan ended up being Reggie’s room. It was kind of ironic, and irony was something that had become...amusing, to her. Within the room of her dad’s greatest crime, she’d build his downfall. It was surprisingly simple to get the supplies she needed. Wires she ripped out from old appliances. Trinkets she borrowed from school, teachers and classmates alike. Little bits and bobbles were stolen from the hospital. More stuff was scavenged from the garage or, if necessary, bought from department and electronic stores.  It was so _easy,_ to let herself just sink into her power and let it guide her actions, her fingers moving with more deftness and precision then she would have thought possible. Her power, apparently, fell somewhere in between a Thinker and Tinker power. She couldn’t build anything futuristic, sadly… but she could build really nice versions of modern technology.

And this little contraption was coming along nicely.

This wire connected… there…

Onto step 56…

 

* * *

 

There was, sadly, a lot of waiting and interruptions that were necessary for the plan. So she began rummaging through more of Reggie’s old books, trying to find something to entertain herself with- her mind needed something _else_ to focus on. She stumbled across a little green book: _Brain Teasers and Riddles._

They were ridiculously easy, of course, but something about the little green book kept her coming back.

Riddles…

 

* * *

 

 

Well, if the ones in the book wouldn’t satisfy, she’d have to find new ones. She started looking up “hard” riddles in her spare time. They were fun, her power didn’t overwhelm her, and… Reggie must have enjoyed them, if he bought a book about it. So… it was fine. But… none of them were hard _enough_. Boring. Coming up with her own was just as enjoyable, though. She started scribbling them down her in notebooks during class (they had all become redundant anyway), coming up with ones that maybe Reggie would have liked.

The thought was comforting.

A little _ding_ alerted her to the fact that her father had left the house again. She smiled and made her way upstairs. It had been pathetically simple, to usurp the security system of the house- it tracked the front and garage doors opening and closing, which was a perfect way of alerting her to her father leaving. His room wasn’t even locked, and his computer wasn’t password protected.

Idiot.

She’d installed a keystroke logger on his laptop a few weeks ago… and he had just logged into his banking service to pay his bills today. All she had to do was bring up the program, look for… ah. Obvious.

She was into his account.

Onto step 127…

 

* * *

 

The riddles started spilling just a little into her interactions, as she couldn’t help the urge to test them out on other people.

“What’s heavy forwards but backwards not?”

“What has two E’s but only one letter?”

“What do a dead man, an emu, and limo all have in common?”

The fact that so many failed was both validating and frustrating. Surely there must be _someone_ smart around here, right? She needed to find someone _intelligent._ Someone who could keep up with her. Help her carry out her plans. Already, she had ideas for beyond this small little suburb, beyond this town, but first… first she would solve her little problems.

She was ready. 

 

* * *

 

 

"Hey dad!" Sarah announced, throwing open the door to Miss Kringle’s private bedroom, electrical luminescence spilling onto the bed where the two lovers lay intertwined. "I'm light as a feather, but no man can hold me long. What am I?"

Dad was too busy trying to untangle himself from his sheets and his bed partner to answer. Instead he was going off, screaming _what the hell are you doing here?_ Typical response to unexpected developments from dad, barking and shouting and threatening. Sarah rolled her eyes—  and the grenade into the room, the green projectile eliciting screams and silence from her audience of two.

"The answer is..."

Pop! Fisss. Ooh, gas mask. That's important. Her father lunged for the door, and that was what the crowbar was for. _Whoomp_. Man, that was satisfying. "Your breath."

Out like a light. Now, to the fun part.

...oh. had to drag them first. Not the fun part. Yet.

 

* * *

 

Honestly, waiting for them to wake up was the bit that killed her. The culmination of weeks of work determined by her idiot’s father snoring was grating in the extreme… but ooooohhh, the pure thrill of watching move as he woke up shot through her like a shock of lightning. Heh. _Shock._

“Hello, daddy dearest. I’d say sorry for the crowbar and knocking you out, but… I’m not.” The adrenaline was making her practically giddy, and a giggle or two slipped out. “It was very satisfying.”

“Sarah, what the _fuck_ are you doing? Why… why am I tied to a chair?”

“Because I’ve kidnapped you. Duh. Keep up, dad.”

“What’s on my head? Where’s Miss Kringle?”

“Oh, Miss Kringle is right here, dad. As for what’s on your head…” Sarah moved forward and ripped the blindfold off. “Take a look.”

He turned to see Miss Kringle, still unconscious, strapped up to Lisa’s own version of the electric chair—  it had been a pain to wire it all up correctly, but thanks to a cannibalized car battery, she could zap them with as many volts as she wanted before she finally finished the job. His horror was exquisite, really. Definitely worth all the hassle she’d gone to.

“So! As you can see, you are both hooked up to an electric chair, whose charge I control with this handy little device here. Now, for simplicity's sake, I could just zap both of you, but… there’s a few things I’d like to hear from you first, dad. So…” She smiled wide and leaned in close. “Would you like to play a game?”

“W—  what?” He stammered out, glancing over at Kringle. Sarah rolled her eyes. Stupid woman was still unconscious—  the anesthetic gas had affected her differently. Had she stopped breathing? Maybe. Didn’t really matter.

“Look. I am going to ask you three riddles. If you get them wrong, I zap you, more and more until… well. Aaaarg! If you get even just _one_ right, I will let Miss Kringle over here go free!” She paused. “You will still die, though. I want that to be very clear.”

“Sa—  Sarah, I—  I don’t know what’s happened to you, but I _promise,_ we—  we can figure something out. Please, think—  think of your mother. Think of how—  how heartbroken she’ll be when…” He trailed off as Sarah burst into laughter. “What’s happened to you, baby girl?”

Oh _god,_ this was fun. She needed to do this again. Somehow. Was there anyone else she wanted to murder?

“Eh. Might as well tell you I went through a… change, I suppose. Started when I got my powers, I guess. See, I’m not just a walking magic 8 ball. I come up with… plans. Ideas. For anything. But oh _boy,_ does my power have a hard-on for murder!” Sarah grinned and poked her father’s cheek, enjoying the hope dying in his eyes and the fear in his face. “Especially when you and mummy dearest were involved. To my credit, I did try very very hard not to, but, well…” She opened her palms in a small shrug. “Oops.  Once I killed mom, well… you didn’t exactly make me _not_ want kill you. Eventually, I just… stopped fighting it. This is who I am.” She smiled. “Now. The game. A chance to save Miss Kringle’s life.” She leaned forwards, until she lightly bumped her head into his. “Game on?”

Shakily, he nodded.

“Excellent!” She hopped over to the device, and grabbed the controls. “First riddle! I can make you a king or a beggar. I am worthless to one but priceless to two. What am I?”

His jaw worked furiously as sweat began to emerge on his face, staining his suit. His beady little eyes raced from side to side, as if the answer was something in the room. Sarah let loose a little giggle of excitement. “Oh, and before I forget… you’re on a time limit. Say… oh. Sixty seconds?” She brought out the dinky little timer she’d borrowed from the kitchen. “As fun as this is, I do need you dead with enough time for all the… arrangements.” She wound back the little clock. “Tick tock!”

_Tick tick tick tick tick tick_

“I—  um.”

_Tick tick tick tick tick tick_

“Wh— wha… what about…”

  _Tick tick tick tick tick tick_

“I… Sarah _please…”_

_Tick tick tick tick tick tick ding!_

Oooh, she got a flinch at the timer going off. Nice.

“Time’s up, dad.” She waved the trigger. “Anything?”

“Um. A—  a lawsuit!”

“...What?” The stupidity of the answer floored her. Just… what? “No! The answer is _love_ , dad. Of course _you_ don’t get that one. Because you never loved _anyone_ who lived in that damn house.”

“That’s not true!” Her father begged, jerking against his constraints. “I love you! And I loved your mother, and your broth— ”

Sarah didn’t even think about doing it.

She just let her fist connect with his face.

“Liar.” She snarled, rage making her voice sound inhuman. “Disgusting, filthy liar! You batter and bully and lock up the people you claim to love, and then you turn around and go sleep with _her._ You never loved any of us. You just wanted us.” She pushed the button.

Her father screamed as volts tore through his skin, lighting his nerves on fire, but not killing him.

Not yet.

“Next question!” She announced, savoring the pain on his face.  “I am never behind, I am always ahead. You make plans for me, but you can’t ever predict me! What am I?”

_Tick tick tick tick tick tick._

“Sarah… Sarah please, I do love you, I do, I _promise._ ”

“Answer the riddle, dad.”

_Tick tick tick tick tick tick._

“I know—  I know I hurt you, but we can—  we can make things right. I forgive you for all of this.”

_Tick tick tick tick tick tick_

“You think I want your _forgiveness?_ ” Sarah leaned in. “I want you _dead,_ dad. Not just for what you did to me, but for what you did to Reggie!”

“What?” The bafflement in his voice boils her blood. How dare he pretend not to know. How dare he!

_Tick tick tick tick tick tick ding!_

“Answer.” She growled. “The riddle.”

“Sarah, I—  I never hurt Reggie— ”

“Answer! The Riddle!”

“I—  um. I… am… the weather!”

She smiled. Tears rolled down his face in response, and she wondered if this is what god felt like when he smote down non-believers.

“Incorrect. The answer is… the future. And yours is looking decidedly grim at the moment, by the way.” She hovered her thumb over the button, tracing it’s edges. “And it’s exactly what you deserve.”

“Sarah,  I don’t know what you think I did, but I _promise,_ I never hurt your brother!”

“Quiet!” She slapped him again, this time drawing blood. “I know you hit him! I know!”

“I didn’t.” He begged, desperately trying to lie. “I didn’t…”

“Well, _I_ certainly didn’t. Mom might have, with how she tried to strangle me, but she’s not available for questioning. Which only leaves… one suspect.”

“Why—  why do you think I hurt him?”

“Because it’s what our family does, dad.” Sarah mutters. “We hurt the people we claim to love.”

She pressed the trigger.  He screamed again, high and clear, and this time she can’t wait until he’s done to begin the next one. It’s almost time.

“Last riddle! I cannot be seen, but I am always heard. If you know my true name, then I cannot hold your attention long. My appeal is in the unknown.” She leaned in, real close. “Who. Am. I?”

“I…” He catches his breath. “Sarah, you _know_ how this ends, right?”

“Oh? And you do?”

“With you, sitting in a chair like this. You’ll get caught, and tried, and killed.”

“Actually, I’d probably get the Birdcage." She corrected him. "Haven't killed quite enough to get the S9 treatment. But they’re never going to catch me.”

“Sarah, people will _notice_ that I’m gone. I have friends, partners, bills and taxes to pay. Someone is going to come knocking.”

“Oh, sure, eventually. It’s a good thing I’m going to be dead too.”

“What?”

“God, you dummy. You really think I didn’t have an escape plan? I’ve been drawing my own blood for the past month. Easily enough to make people think I’m dead. The police show up, they find you and Kringle’s body, covered in my blood, a well placed note detailing how you killed your wife and kid, but she wouldn’t accept you so you killed her and then yourself… well. Pretty cut and dry for the police. In the meantime, I’ve had a new identity drawn up, and your new will stipulates that your savings go into an offshore account that I control. I’m in the wind, you’re in the ground, and no one will ever know.” She grins. “Now. Answer the riddle. Who am I?”

He was truly crying now, gasping sobs escaping his throat as his whole body shook.

“Who. Am. I?”

“I… I don’t _know._ ”

“Isn’t it obvious, dad?”

She smiles so wide she think her face might split.

“I’m _Enigma.”_

Zap.

 

* * *

 

 

Her plan, of course, went off without a hitch, and Lisa Wilbourn was a free woman with cash to spend, and a career to launch.

Now…

Time to have some fun.

**Author's Note:**

> Well, here we are again. This is gonna be a doozy.


End file.
